This Is A Terrible Idea Let's Do It
by Bea Ryan
Summary: Sleeping with Bass had been an impulsive decision, a way to break up the boredom, and pretending they were dating had been a desperation move. In the end, it's getting to know him that is really messing with Charlie's world. Set one year post series, this work is heavy on headcanon and backstory, filling information the show never did. If you hate that, please skip this. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Sunday, noon

At this distance Charlie couldn't make out much about the rider pounding up the dirt road towards her, but based on the cloud of dust his horse was kicking up, he was trying to outrun someone. Adrenaline surged in her veins for the first time in months; her heart pounded and her thoughts slid into sharp focus. She didn't yet know if she was on the side of the refugee or his pursuers, but finally she had something to do.

She ran back inside the house, locking the door behind her, and bolted up the stairs, stopping by her room only long enough to grab the rifle and binoculars from the top shelf of her closet before slipping through the hidden hatch to the attic. Her lungs protested as she gulped the baked, stale air. It was stiflingly hot even though it was only early May. She pushed through the discomfort and made her way over the exposed beams to the east vent. From here she'd be able to see the rider and whoever was after him. She scanned the horizon before zooming in on him.

He wore a broad rimmed hat like the Texan authorities, and he was clean-shaven now, but it was undeniably Sebastian Monroe. Something she didn't want to name twisted within her. A little less than a year ago she'd gone to Willoughby with her family, Bass had joined up with the Texans, and Connor had gone back to Mexico determined to topple Nunez and carve out his own empire. Both Monroe men had done well for themselves. Charlie had only learned that she wasn't cut out to be a waitress or a farmer.

Bass made a hard left towards the barn and Charlie scanned the horizon again, still unable to spot the threat. Knowing nothing but that he was on the run, she decided to throw in with Bass. She slid the toggles on the latches and transformed the vent into an escape hatch before sliding down the rope attached to a bolt in the wall for just such an emergency. She stayed low and moved quickly trying to keep the rifle on her back from rattling on its belt as she approached the barn. Bass could have dispatched any low-grade threat easily himself. If he was here, something significant had to have happened.

Startling him was a good way to get your throat slit, so she called out before coming around the barn door. "What do you need?"

"Miles," he answered.

"Well, you've got me."

"I need Miles."

"Just tell me who's after you."

He gave her a look that asked if she was stupid, and she barely stopped herself from egging him on. Something was under his skin.

"You were riding like someone was after you," she said.

He scoffed at that. "I'm just trying to outrun the boredom."

"Why?"

"Because the last time I was this bored I annexed Wisconsin." He flashed her a joyless smile. "I've been strongly discouraged from doing that again."

"You sucked at ruling Wisconsin," she said. She felt a certain affinity for the man she'd come to know, but she'd hated President Monroe.

"We were a republic," he answered with a shrug.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Wisconsin sent apples, cheese and 100 soldiers per year to Philly and in exchange we kept their major trade roads and borders safe. Anything else was Governor Walker's problem."

Charlie rolled this information around in her mind briefly before shelving it for later thought. "Why do you need Miles?"

"Because he's spent a year in Willoughby. Either he's figured out how to be dull and he can teach me, or he's going out of his mind and we can go have some fun together."

A smile crept across Charlie's face. This was going to be fun. "I can tell you what he did to pass the time and how he plans to stay busy. He and Mom are out picking up the crib right now."

The look on Bass' face was worth more diamonds than she'd ever seen in one place. With any luck she'd been a little more subtle when they'd broken the news to her.

When he could finally speak again, Bass launched into a stream of consciousness monologue that told her more than she cared to know.

"He's never wanted kids. He doesn't even like kids. I picked out the American Girl doll he gave you for your fourth birthday. He wouldn't even go in the store. I hung the trapeze in our yard when your parents left you and Danny with us for the weekend. You'd have eaten nothing but peanut butter straight from the jar if I hadn't been there."

Charlie tried to let the news roll off of her. None of them were who they had been. Miles may have gotten on the road to fatherhood by accident, but he was happy about it, in love with her mother, and determined to do a good job. It was a better start than a lot of kids had.

Bass' rant continued. "Condoms, Charlotte! Do they not have condoms in Willoughby? Are we so far out in Buttfuck, Texas that the trade carts don't come by? Hey, you know what doesn't get you pregnant? Buttfucking!"

She began laughing again at that one and let herself collapse on the few hay bales left over from the winter, knocking up a cloud of dust as she landed. When her laughs turned to coughs the dropped one leg to either side of the bales, straddling them, and propped herself up on her elbows, trying to get her breath back. When she could speak again she said, "Crazy man if you brought condoms to sleepy little Willoughby, I will take every last one you have. Any chance you also brought a man to fill them?"

He was on her in an instant, and her flash of protest melted in his heat. She hadn't intended to extend an invitation, but he was here and anything but boring. Better yet, she had no fear of breaking him or shocking him unlike the locals who seemed to think French kissing was best saved for couples contemplating marriage.

She slipped her hands under his shirt and raked her nails down his back, noting the scars that Connor had left, the visible ones at least. Momentarily surfacing from the wave of lust that had washed away common sense, she murmured, "This is a terrible idea."

"Awful," he agreed. "Let's do it anyway."

She slipped his shirt off over his head, then kissed him with more teeth than she'd dare use on most men. He pulled one of her legs up over his hip and ground against her until they were both moaning.

"Condoms, Bass? Did you bring condoms?"

"That's like asking if I left home without my sword."

"It's a yes-no question," she insisted.

"Yes, Charlotte. Yes," he whispered. With one hand he unbuttoned her pants before running a single teasing finger just under the waistband of her panties. "Now I'm going to make you say yes." He smiled his devilish grin, the one that meant he had a truly brilliant plan. "It won't be boring."


	2. Chapter 2

As Charlie caught her breath, reality caught up with her. How could she have slept with Sebastian Monroe? Worse, how could it have been so good? He'd been so smug when he'd said he'd make her say yes that she'd refused to say it, but she couldn't be silent either. She gasped, moaned, and finally resorted to "Oh God" just to avoid saying yes. He hadn't paused in his quest to grind pleasure into every inch of her; he'd just smiled and said, "Not God. Just Bass." It should have pissed her off, but there'd been something so sincere about it, like he was begging her to just see him as he was, that she'd said his name. Over and over she'd called him Bass. And now he was naked beside her, grinning that maniacal way he had that made him look like a kid who'd found his hidden presents and then set them all on fire. She sat up and began the search for her clothes.

"Damn," he said.

"What?"

"I hoped I'd knocked you deep enough into a sex coma that we'd get another round."

"You're disgusting," she said.

"Yes, Charlotte, and you're a Matheson. Use me for what you need and then treat me like crap for it. Are you sure you don't want to be nice to me long enough to get a beach trip out of it?"

She threw his pants at him and grabbed her shirt from a scattered pile of straw before scrabbling towards her panties. He may have run his hands and lips over every inch of her body, but the show had ended, or at least it would as soon as she found her pants. "Get out. You need to be gone be gone before Mom and Miles get back."

He pulled on his pants and leaned against the wall, arms behind his back so she could see every curve of muscle on his chest and arms. He was grinning again, a man with a plan, and her stomach tightened as she weighed whatever danger he might offer.

"Or I could stay and we could pretend we're dating. They'd go nuts - it'd be great - and we could have more sex."

She gave up the hunt for her pants and stalked toward him in just panties and her tank top, wagging a finger at him like he was a naughty child. "No…." She stumbled as she tried to find a name for him. It had been easier for her to think of him as Monroe. Someone best held at arms length for your own safety, but he could be loyal too. A man who gladly granted wishes you didn't even know you had. That man was named Bass. "I'm not going to tell my mom I'm dating the Scourge of Scranton just to amuse you."

"First, if you want to insult me, you need to pick something I'm ashamed of. You'd have come with me to Scranton. And second, you can tell me it's like that every time for you, but I won't believe you. That was… impressive." He took her outstretched hand in his own and pulled it towards him, drawing her body along with it so she landed against his bare chest with one of her thighs lodged between his slightly spread ones. She closed her eyes and fought back a purr as he slid his free arm around her and let it slide down her back, skimming along her tanktop and panties, before cupping the curve of her ass and pulling her in closer. She opened them again when she felt the scratch of his beard in her palm as he kissed her open hand. He leaned in, and his voice was tightly held in check as he whispered in her ear. "Hold your body very still and don't react."

She tensed immediately, expecting him to say there was a snake near her bare feet and legs. Damn Texas.

"Your mom and Miles are standing in the doorway. We can tell them we're dating or we can tell them we just finished fucking like the world was ending, but I don't think they're going to believe that your pants and my shirt are missing because we're doing laundry."

She let her head collapse against his shoulder as she weighed her options. Was this the most trouble she'd ever been in with him? Vegas, the roofie bar, the Patriots. They'd all been dangerous, but her mom and Miles, especially when pissed off, were a deadly pair. She heard the unsheathing of a sword - had to be Miles, her mother didn't use traditional weapons as a first choice - and decided to stay between them. Bass was unarmed and Miles wouldn't stab through her just to get to him.

"What did you do?" Rachel's accusation boomed through barn, filling the empty space with her anger and startling a bird in the rafters.

Charlie spun to face them, keeping Monroe behind her. "We're in the middle of something. I'll meet you up at the house a little later."

Miles' eyes were on Bass. Bass' were on his sword; it was twenty feet away and he'd have to go within seven feet of Miles to get to it.

Miles used his sword to emphasize his instructions, pointing it at Bass and through the doors behind him. "The wagon is out front. We already unloaded the crib at the house. You two can unhitch the horses and get them settled. We'll see you inside in ten minutes."

"We're going to need at least thirty," Bass answered.

Miles took a step towards them but Charlie held up a hand. "It will take twenty minutes to unhitch, feed and water the horses even if we don't clean them."

"Fine. You have twenty minutes," Miles said. He took Rachel by the elbow as he walked past her, pulling her out of the barn with him as he went.

When they were safely out of earshot, Charlie asked, "What are we going to do?"

Bass answered, "We're going to have a lot of fun."

* * *

When they arrived at the house, Rachel was beyond words, pacing the length of the kitchen angrily. Miles sat in a chair, head in his hands, and only heaved a sigh to acknowledge they'd entered the room. Neither Charlie nor Bass broke the silence. Finally Miles asked, "When?"

Bass bit his lower lip, "Like you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once."

Miles launched out of his chair and threw his mug at him. "Is this a game to you? Is she a game?"

Bass stood his ground. "She could do worse. Hell, she has done worse."

"Your kid, Bass. She used to be with your kid. Is that the worse you're thinking of, because I sure as hell am."

"Really? 'Cause I'm thinking about taking pictures of the bride and the best man at my old friend Ben's wedding. You've got no moral high ground here, so how about you just slap on a smile, take Rachel for a walk and I'll make dinner."

The three of them turned to stare at him, the sudden twist of his plan throwing a wrench into what all of them had expected to be a long, loud shouting match possibly ending in violence.

Rachel asked, "Do you plan to poison us?"

"I like babies, Rachel. Even yours." He paused to sneak a glance that no one missed at Charlie. "Especially yours. You've had a long day and even Miles will admit I'm a decent cook."

"You're a food snob and you like to eat," Miles said. "That doesn't make you a decent cook."

"Whatever," Bass said. "Go enjoy a spring breeze. See you in an hour."

Miles and Rachel shared a tense glance, weighing the words said and unsaid between them. This discussion wasn't over, not by a long shot, but Miles had already fired their best shots and Monroe had slapped them down easily. Charlie hadn't spoken yet. That was her way lately, quiet until she had something to say, and with nothing but the weather changing she was too often keeping her thoughts to herself. They needed to stage a more strategic attack on whatever was happening.

Rachel nodded her head towards the door and Miles led the way to it. "You coming?" he asked Charlie.

"I need her here," Bass said.

Charlie shot him a look, unreadable but distinctly demanding something from him, and told him, "I'll be back in a minute." She followed Miles and Rachel out the front door and asked a question of her own before they could attack her with theirs. "What happened in Scranton?"

Miles just looked confused. He'd lost his footing somewhere along the way and everytime he'd almost recovered the ground spun again.

Rachel didn't hesitate to answer. "He murdered forty people. That wasn't enough for him, so he came back a week later, killed over 300 more, and kidnapped all the children. There were 453 people in that town before General Sebastian Monroe noticed it, and 15 alive and homeless when he left. There is no more Scranton, and it's all because of him. That man is a monster."

Charlie heard her mother's words, but her eyes followed Miles. "What's your answer?" she asked.

"What's he told you?"

Typical Miles. He didn't talk about his time as General Matheson of the Monroe Militia if he could help it. She doubted her mother had ever asked Miles where he was during Scranton. Charlie walked back inside, leaving Miles and Rachel to talk about her on the porch.

She reassessed Monroe yet again when she entered the kitchen. She was sick to death of every vegetable in season, but he'd made it all look appealing somehow. He'd cut the carrots and onions into thin ovals, bias cut he called it, and made some sort of salad out of them. The sprinkled diced herbs and dressing mixed with it gave her hope that at least it would taste a little different than it usually did. He paused from shaving raw asparagus and hard cheese into a bowl to hand her a pot full of vinegar with things floating in it. "Put this on the fire out back, stir it occasionally, and let me know when it boils."

"What is it?" she asked.

"It will be refrigerator pickles," he answered. "Your mom likes them."

"We don't have a refrigerator."

"Then we'll have to eat them all tonight," he said.

* * *

The mood at dinner swung wildly and Charlie sat back and watched it unfold, covering her smiles as necessary and watching what Bass brought out in those around him.

.

The pickles tasted fine enough to her, but the gesture brought out something in her mother, a crack in the shell that was determined to hate Bass. There was a story there she doubted her mother would ever tell her. Maybe she could pry it out of Bass later.

Miles and Bass had an extended debate on the difference between cheese grits and polenta. There were references to the Marines, a trip to Italy when they were in their twenties, and someone they knew after the blackout that they called "that giant, red-headed bastard." Whoever he was, he'd done something with the miller's daughter that had changed the quality of the grain available to the Monroe Militia. There was a lot of laughter as they told tales of eating cornbread over a bowl so you could catch the crumbs and make porridge.

There were tense moments too, and she knew Bass had caused some of them intentionally. He'd made a vague statement about Vegas, that Charlie in the door of the fight cage had been a sight for sore eyes. He didn't say literally, but since he and Connor had been pummeling each other before she rescued him, it would have been true enough. He threw in a sly line about her knocking the breath out of him on the road to Willoughby. That was literally true too. There had been a fight. He'd chosen to flee rather than hurt her.

Towards the end of the meal, Rachel asked, "How long are you staying, Bass?"

"I don't know," he answered. "I have to catch a boat out of Houston in a week. I will take three days to get there. The sooner I leave here, the more time I have at the beach." He turned to smile at Charlie. "Road trip?"

Miles interjected, "The last time you took her to the beach she nearly drowned."

"She was wearing her life jacket," Bass answered. "She was fine."

"You freaked out," Miles teased. "You made us go home."

"She was a tiny little person doing stupid things and it was a big ocean and I knew more than I wanted to about dry drowning. Home was just easier."

Miles turned to Rachel. "You should have seen Nurse Bass flipping out."

Bass countered, "One of us was a highly skilled Marine Corps medic, and one of us once had to be cut out of his pants after an unfortunate accident with Liquid Stitches."

"You were a nurse in the Marines?" Charlie asked. "I thought you two were together."

Miles and Bass traded a look. What they'd had to tell people they'd done in the Marines wasn't wrong exactly, but it wasn't the whole story either and it wasn't like anyone was going to pull their security clearances if they fessed up.

Miles blinked first. "We did high risk medical evacuations. Bass handled the patients. I handled security."

Charlie studied Bass, her look demanding that he continue the story.

"What he said," Bass answered.

* * *

After dinner, Bass made a show of taking Charlie's hand and announced, "We cooked. You two can do the dishes."

Miles let the statement roll by him. "Charlie, can you help your mom?"

Charlie gave him a quick glance, technically she had helped cook and Bass' suggestion seemed not only fair but likely to head off an argument, but a subtle nod and a slight pleading glance from Miles changed her mind. She picked up her plate and Miles' and headed to the kitchen, leaving Rachel to bus Bass' dish. Rachel left it, opting to carry only her own plate and glass as she followed Charlie.

Bass smirked, lifted his glass and drained it of water. He refilled it with three fingers of whiskey from a bottle in a glass front cabinet in the corner of the room.

"That's supposed to be medicinal," Miles said.

"Consider it lubricant for this conversation," Bass answered. He walked out the front door to the porch, leaving Miles to either follow him or drop the issue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sunday, after dinner**

"What the hell are you doing, Bass? Charlie? Is she your midlife crisis?"

"You want to talk midlife crisis let's talk about you becoming a father the year I become a grandfather."

"Connor?"

"We hired locals for the supply lines when we dug the Patriots out of Cuba. Connor married one of the cooks. She seems sweet, reminds me of Emma, but what do I know. I don't speak Spanish."

"And she's pregnant?"

Bass ran a hand over his beard and smiles. "I told him to kick back and enjoy the honeymoon stage, not to knock her up right away. He said, 'Dad, it takes a normal man nine months to make a baby. I'm a Monroe. I think we can get a big, healthy baby here in seven and a half.'"

Miles' tone said more about his opinion of Connor than Bass wanted to hear. "So he's back to calling himself a Monroe?"

"Governor Monroe of Cuba. For now he still needs backing from Texas to hold Cuba and he's counting on me to make sure he keeps it. So far the locals are just glad to have the Patriots gone, but they'll want one of their own in charge soon. Connor speaks the language, eats the food, married a local. He's practically one of them. Cuba will be a good ally."

"Allies? Not a state of the Nation of Texas?"

Bass shrugged. He and Miles had seen enough of it while founding the Monroe Republic. Texas probably knew what was coming, too. Their relationship with Cuba was going to be complicated, but the Gulf of Mexico between them would hopefully keep it from becoming bloody.

"And Texas is still trusting you?" Miles asked.

"Texas is more than happy to send me outside of their borders to kill their enemies. If the new governments remember that they owe favors to Texas, even better."

Silence settled between them and Miles let out a slow, deep breath. His eyes roamed his yard as he weighed his life against Bass'. The garden needed watering, the ruts in the driveway were going to bust a wagon wheel if he didn't fill them in soon, and the barn roof had a leak. He had two drunks sitting in his jail cells in town, and he'd have piss to swab out of the cells in the morning. The glory of life as a small town sheriff. He knew Bass would have taken it all gladly if it came with a family at home. That knowledge was the only thing keeping him from strangling the man for laying his hands on Charle. That and the fact that Charlie finally seemed alive again. The Texas heat seemed to have baked the joy out of her in the last year, but her eyes had sparkled as she'd calculated her way through the landmines that had passed for dinner conversation.

"Where are you headed next?" Miles asked.

"Boston. The radiation blew northeast out of Philly, right up through New York. The scientists say we can safely use about half of Connecticut and everything northeast of that. They're calling it the Northeastern Territory. They want me to go scrub the Patriots out of it."

"You're going?"

Bass shrugged. "I was ready to quit after Cuba, but Jeremy's daughter sent a letter. 'Dear Uncle Bass. All is not forgiven, but I need you to come kick these Patriot jerks in the dick. XOXO, Jessica.'"

"That sounds like Jeremy's kid," Miles chuckled.

"Reports on her are good. She's a doctor. When the refugees from Philly hit, she kept it together. One of your old protegees, Mica, ran supply. Rounded up some boats and got the refugees fishing. No one's leading the Militia, but the Patriots had a harder time with people who weren't as desperate as they were in Georgia."

Miles asked, "After you save Boston from the Patriots, are you going to run it?" It was a question only. No recrimination or judgement yet.

"Someone is going to," Bass answered. "I will if we can't find someone better to take the job."

"Did you tell Charlie that President Monroe is on the way back?"

"We aren't really at the 'Let's talk about work' part of the relationship."

Miles' glare could have turned rain to snow.

Bass held up a hand. "I'm leaving no later than Thursday morning. It's Sunday night. You can throw a fit and make her dig her heels in or you can suck it up and wait it out."

Miles figured he could make it three more days. He wasn't sure he could say the same about Rachel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Monday**

Bass made it through twenty minutes of weeding tomatoes before his promise to help with her chores began to disintegrate. She'd extracted it from him last night in exchange for letting him stay in her room. He'd wanted to annoy Miles and Rachel, and she'd shared a nighttime wagon with him before and didn't think much of it. The chicken coop, on the other hand, was the worst part of her week, and when the sun was too high to weed the unshaded rows, the coop needed to be shoveled out. It had seemed like an easy choice. Unfortunately, with him beside her in bed and memories of how he'd touched her in the barn dancing in her head, she'd barely slept. If his sleep had been disturbed, he'd hidden it well.

"So this is what you do now?" he asked. She could feel the snark coming. "You take the mean plants away from the good plants. You're a vegetable hero. One day people will write songs about your greatness."

"You should hear the songs they used to sing about you," she struck back. She quoted the lyrics, "Scourge of Scranton, Cleansing with fire, My way or your death, One man's desire."

"It's got a catchy beat and you can dance to it. I give it 75 points."

She glared at him, hoping the force of a hard stare would shut him up.

"I already told you that you'd have been with me in Scranton. I didn't like it, but it needed doing."

Charlie heaved a disgusted sigh and turned back to her tomatoes. Monroe claimed he didn't like killing, but he didn't hesitate to do it.

They worked in silence for another half an hour before Bass asked, "Did the national anthem ever make its way out to where you were in Wisconsin?"

"Maybe," she answered. "Musicians came through occasionally. There were a couple of songs about Philadelphia."

"Probably Springsteen's Philadelphia. That one was popular." Something bitter crept into his tone. "Turned out the Boss was psychic."

Charlie didn't know who "the Boss" was and didn't know the song, but she recognized Bass' posture and the wounded animal inflection in his voice. There was a story about Miles hidden somewhere in there. No surprise really. Most of Bass' stories featured Miles.

They worked until lunchtime before taking a break to pick vegetables straight off the plants, swish them in a bucket of water to knock off the soil, and eat them raw. Charlie was used to this sort of meal, plunking her butt in the dirt where she worked at least once a week so she could skip a trip to the house and her mother's prying eyes, but before they'd finished she decided Bass' stare was worse. He looked torn between screaming at her for being stupid and ripping her clothes off and fucking some sense into her. She hated that the second possibility turned her on, but there was something about him that held her attention. He'd known what he was doing in the barn yesterday, and he'd done it well. Whatever bizarre stew of emotions she felt for him, she had to admit that the body that held his tightly wound ball of crazy and rage was well-made and well-used.

With Bass, cleaning the chicken coop was almost fun. He taught her to curse in seven languages. She'd never even heard of two of the languages, but he made vague statements about the Marines to explain it away. He told her to check with Aaron if she wanted to learn more Klingon.

When they finished with the coop, he asked her to run the hand pump for the well. Watching him strip down to his underwear and wash himself with his balled up t-shirt put a hitch in her breath. He was shameless, catching her eye and watching her watching him. He invited her to join him, offering to scrub her back if she'd take off her shirt. She briefly let herself consider the image of Bass covered in the unavoidable mud from the pump spill zone and laid out on the clover beside it, but she declined his invitation. The middle of her front yard was even less private than the barn where they'd last been caught.

Afterward his bath, he gleefully traipsed back into the house, mostly naked and soaking wet, right past Rachel and Miles, up the stairs to the room he shared with Charlie. While he changed, Charlie carried the eggs into the kitchen and waited for her mother to explode. She knew she shouldn't enjoy this so much, but at least she wasn't bored for a change.

Rachel and Miles had a conversation of glances and grunts while Charlie pretended not to notice that her uncle had gotten stuck with the role of "the calm one" while Bass was with them. Fucking Bass had been a whim and fake dating him had been a move forced by desperation, but she was having fun despite herself. Finally something was happening in her life. With any luck she'd manage to get laid again before he left. She chastised herself for that last thought - he was Monroe, a wild card with a list of bad acts longer than the fence line - but she couldn't deny it either. The sex had been phenomenal.

Bass clomped down the stairs in a fresh shirt and jeans, barefoot but somehow making a racket anyway, and Rachel let the porch door slam behind her as she stormed out.

"What's up with Dr. Mrs. Matheson?" Bass asked.

Miles said. "She's not happy."

Bass ignored the words Miles had left unsaid and turned to Charlie. "Where are those eggs we took from the chickens? I'll make quiche. She likes that."

Miles and Charlie exchanged a look. How the hell did Bass know Rachel liked quiche? Charlie felt sick as the realization hit her, but she pushed to confirm it anyway. "How do you know that?"

Bass dug through the cabinets, picking up various pans and setting them aside, but didn't answer the question.

"You know it because she was your prisoner for eight years!" Charlie accused.

Bass flung the pan in his hand back in the pile and stood to confront her. "I know you Mathesons tell each other a lot of things so you can all stand to live together, but do I have to be the asshole in every single one of your stories?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Charlie demanded.

"Tell her, Miles. Tell her what it means, or have you and Rachel never had this discussion? Yeah, poor, helpless Rachel survived almost a decade in captivity with evil Bass, but the only scar on her is one *you* put there?"

Charlie's eyes slid to Miles. The first thing she noticed was that he wasn't drawing his sword.

"I've never heard your version of it," Miles said. "I saw a body."

"Yes, you drunk fuck. You saw a *live* body in the back of a medical wagon headed for Boston. You only thought she was dead because you were hammered and feeling guilty. I sent Rachel to Boston to recover after what you did. When she woke up, I asked her if she wanted to see you. She said NO. She spent the next seven years rebuilding Boston under a fake name, free to come and go however she pleased."

"She was a prisoner," Charlie insisted.

"The last 12 months you're damn right she was. We lost over a thousand people that winter to the flu - the fucking flu - and when I showed up to ask if she wanted to go to the memorial service, I caught her listening to a CD player." Bass' tone was incredulous. Rachel might openly hate him while he kept his opinion of her quieter for Miles and Charlie's sake, but he didn't think highly of her. "She could make the power work and instead of making medicine, refrigerating food, or protecting the borders, she was listening to Nickelback. Who does that?"

He paused, hoping his words would finally sink in, that for once he wouldn't be the only one appalled by Rachel's behavior. His rap sheet was long, but he owned his sins and they never let him forget them. Rachel was allowed to exist under a different set of rules. "I had to go to Baltimore for a mass funeral, but I hauled her out of Boston with me and hoped she'd tell me how the hell she'd done it on the way. She wouldn't, so I dumped her in Philly and told Strausser to find out what she knew while I was gone." Bass took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That part was a mistake. I own that. She had a shitty ten days and I made it happen, but she was not a prisoner for eight years."

Charlie let Bass' story sit with her for a moment. It seemed more plausible than anything she'd been told before. Nora had been tortured and broken in 30 days, an issue she'd take up with Bass later. That her mother hadn't said a word in eight years, until Danny had arrived, had always seemed unlikely. The truth was her mother had been free to look for her and hadn't. No wonder she'd told Charlie it was all Bass' fault, especially after she'd heard the lengths Maggie had gone to to try and reunite with her own children.

It also shed light she wasn't sure she wanted on her mother's relationship with Miles. They pushed each other, and not always in the best of directions. On some days she wanted the heat and steel that bound them together for herself. On others she recognized their combined power and tried to estimate the body count they'd left in their wake. She knew they'd come close to breaking each other more than once. The news that there'd been physical violence wasn't shocking. .

Charlie turned towards the door where her mother had exited and found that Rachel had crept in from the porch, observing as Bass' story had torn apart the room. "It's true," she said. "I was in Boston, rebuilding Boston, for years. I didn't know where to find my family, and it wouldn't have been safe anyway. I couldn't be near Miles, so I built a city. Sometimes I snuck down and helped with Philadelphia too. I'm an engineer. I can build things. Rebuild things."

Charlie pushed past her mother and tried to slow her pace as she left.

"Where are you going?" Rachel called after her.

"For a walk," she answered. She forced her voice to be moderate and controlled, but in her head she was screaming.


	5. Chapter 5

**Monday**

Bass made it through twenty minutes of weeding tomatoes before his promise to help with her chores began to disintegrate. She'd extracted it from him last night in exchange for letting him stay in her room. He'd wanted to annoy Miles and Rachel, and she'd shared a nighttime wagon with him before and didn't think much of it. The chicken coop, on the other hand, was the worst part of her week, and when the sun was too high to weed the unshaded rows, the coop needed to be shoveled out. It had seemed like an easy choice. Unfortunately, with him beside her in bed and memories of how he'd touched her in the barn dancing in her head, she'd barely slept. If his sleep had been disturbed, he'd hidden it well.

"So this is what you do now?" he asked. She could feel the snark coming. "You take the mean plants away from the good plants. You're a vegetable hero. One day people will write songs about your greatness."

"You should hear the songs they used to sing about you," she struck back. She quoted the lyrics, "Scourge of Scranton, Cleansing with fire, My way or your death, One man's desire."

"It's got a catchy beat and you can dance to it. I give it 75 points."

She glared at him, hoping the force of a hard stare would shut him up.

"I already told you that you'd have been with me in Scranton. I didn't like it, but it needed doing."

Charlie heaved a disgusted sigh and turned back to her tomatoes. Monroe claimed he didn't like killing, but he didn't hesitate to do it.

They worked in silence for another half an hour before Bass asked, "Did the national anthem ever make its way out to where you were in Wisconsin?"

"Maybe," she answered. "Musicians came through occasionally. There were a couple of songs about Philadelphia."

"Probably Springsteen's Philadelphia. That one was popular." Something bitter crept into his tone. "Turned out the Boss was psychic."

Charlie didn't know who "the Boss" was and didn't know the song, but she recognized Bass' posture and the wounded animal inflection in his voice. There was a story about Miles hidden somewhere in there. No surprise really. Most of Bass' stories featured Miles.

They worked until lunchtime before taking a break to pick vegetables straight off the plants, swish them in a bucket of water to knock off the soil, and eat them raw. Charlie was used to this sort of meal, plunking her butt in the dirt where she worked at least once a week so she could skip a trip to the house and her mother's prying eyes, but before they'd finished she decided Bass' stare was worse. He looked torn between screaming at her for being stupid and ripping her clothes off and fucking some sense into her. She hated that the second possibility turned her on, but there was something about him that held her attention. He'd known what he was doing in the barn yesterday, and he'd done it well. Whatever bizarre stew of emotions she felt for him, she had to admit that the body that held his tightly wound ball of crazy and rage was well-made and well-used.

With Bass, cleaning the chicken coop was almost fun. He taught her to curse in seven languages. She'd never even heard of two of the languages, but he made vague statements about the Marines to explain it away. He told her to check with Aaron if she wanted to learn more Klingon.

When they finished with the coop, he asked her to run the hand pump for the well. Watching him strip down to his underwear and wash himself with his balled up t-shirt put a hitch in her breath. He was shameless, catching her eye and watching her watching him. He invited her to join him, offering to scrub her back if she'd take off her shirt. She briefly let herself consider the image of Bass covered in the unavoidable mud from the pump spill zone and laid out on the clover beside it, but she declined his invitation. The middle of her front yard was even less private than the barn where they'd last been caught.

Afterward his bath, he gleefully traipsed back into the house, mostly naked and soaking wet, right past Rachel and Miles, up the stairs to the room he shared with Charlie. While he changed, Charlie carried the eggs into the kitchen and waited for her mother to explode. She knew she shouldn't enjoy this so much, but at least she wasn't bored for a change.

Rachel and Miles had a conversation of glances and grunts while Charlie pretended not to notice that her uncle had gotten stuck with the role of "the calm one" while Bass was with them. Fucking Bass had been a whim and fake dating him had been a move forced by desperation, but she was having fun despite herself. Finally something was happening in her life. With any luck she'd manage to get laid again before he left. She chastised herself for that last thought - he was Monroe, a wild card with a list of bad acts longer than the fence line - but she couldn't deny it either. The sex had been phenomenal.

Bass clomped down the stairs in a fresh shirt and jeans, barefoot but somehow making a racket anyway, and Rachel let the porch door slam behind her as she stormed out.

"What's up with Dr. Mrs. Matheson?" Bass asked.

Miles said. "She's not happy."

Bass ignored the words Miles had left unsaid and turned to Charlie. "Where are those eggs we took from the chickens? I'll make quiche. She likes that."

Miles and Charlie exchanged a look. How the hell did Bass know Rachel liked quiche? Charlie felt sick as the realization hit her, but she pushed to confirm it anyway. "How do you know that?"

Bass dug through the cabinets, picking up various pans and setting them aside, but didn't answer the question.

"You know it because she was your prisoner for eight years!" Charlie accused.

Bass flung the pan in his hand back in the pile and stood to confront her. "I know you Mathesons tell each other a lot of things so you can all stand to live together, but do I have to be the asshole in every single one of your stories?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Charlie demanded.

"Tell her, Miles. Tell her what it means, or have you and Rachel never had this discussion? Yeah, poor, helpless Rachel survived almost a decade in captivity with evil Bass, but the only scar on her is one *you* put there?"

Charlie's eyes slid to Miles. The first thing she noticed was that he wasn't drawing his sword.

"I've never heard your version of it," Miles said. "I saw a body."

"Yes, you drunk fuck. You saw a *live* body in the back of a medical wagon headed for Boston. You only thought she was dead because you were hammered and feeling guilty. I sent Rachel to Boston to recover after what you did. When she woke up, I asked her if she wanted to see you. She said NO. She spent the next seven years rebuilding Boston under a fake name, free to come and go however she pleased."

"She was a prisoner," Charlie insisted.

"The last 12 months you're damn right she was. We lost over a thousand people that winter to the flu - the fucking flu - and when I showed up to ask if she wanted to go to the memorial service, I caught her listening to a CD player." Bass' tone was incredulous. Rachel might openly hate him while he kept his opinion of her quieter for Miles and Charlie's sake, but he didn't think highly of her. "She could make the power work and instead of making medicine, refrigerating food, or protecting the borders, she was listening to Nickelback. Who does that?"

He paused, hoping his words would finally sink in, that for once he wouldn't be the only one appalled by Rachel's behavior. His rap sheet was long, but he owned his sins and they never let him forget them. Rachel was allowed to exist under a different set of rules. "I had to go to Baltimore for a mass funeral, but I hauled her out of Boston with me and hoped she'd tell me how the hell she'd done it on the way. She wouldn't, so I dumped her in Philly and told Strausser to find out what she knew while I was gone." Bass took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "That part was a mistake. I own that. She had a shitty ten days and I made it happen, but she was not a prisoner for eight years."

Charlie let Bass' story sit with her for a moment. It seemed more plausible than anything she'd been told before. Nora had been tortured and broken in 30 days, an issue she'd take up with Bass later. That her mother hadn't said a word in eight years, until Danny had arrived, had always seemed unlikely. The truth was her mother had been free to look for her and hadn't. No wonder she'd told Charlie it was all Bass' fault, especially after she'd heard the lengths Maggie had gone to to try and reunite with her own children.

It also shed light she wasn't sure she wanted on her mother's relationship with Miles. They pushed each other, and not always in the best of directions. On some days she wanted the heat and steel that bound them together for herself. On others she recognized their combined power and tried to estimate the body count they'd left in their wake. She knew they'd come close to breaking each other more than once. The news that there'd been physical violence wasn't shocking. .

Charlie turned towards the door where her mother had exited and found that Rachel had crept in from the porch, observing as Bass' story had torn apart the room. "It's true," she said. "I was in Boston, rebuilding Boston, for years. I didn't know where to find my family, and it wouldn't have been safe anyway. I couldn't be near Miles, so I built a city. Sometimes I snuck down and helped with Philadelphia too. I'm an engineer. I can build things. Rebuild things."

Charlie pushed past her mother and tried to slow her pace as she left.

"Where are you going?" Rachel called after her.

"For a walk," she answered. She forced her voice to be moderate and controlled, but in her head she was screaming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Monday night**

Bass let himself collapse against Charlie's back, spent and satisfied, for a moment before scooting them both to the center of the bed. He curled himself gently around her, spooning now instead of pounding her into the mattress, and gently kissed the back of her neck. Neither of them spoke as they settled back to earth, but eventually Bass broke the silence.

"Was that OK? What you wanted?"

Charlie didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She was usually on top in her sexual encounters, or at the very least directing from the bottom, shifting her hips and telling her lovers where and how to touch her. This had been different. She hadn't been fucking; she'd been fucked, letting him do whatever he thought was best. She'd liked it too. A lot.

"Charlie, you need to talk to me. That was… intense. I don't know if you're OK or not unless you tell me."

She could still feel each impression of his fingers on her skin. She knew exactly where he'd held her as she'd surrendered. She hadn't noticed how hard he'd held her at the time, but now each mark seemed like a reminder of her weakness. "I'm going to have bruises," she said.

"Yeah, well, you said rough. I meant are you OK in your head. You seem… not OK. What's the problem?"

"Why does it matter?"

Bass' concern was quickly growing into frustration. She was such a damn Matheson. "I need to know what you don't like so I know what not to do. What was the problem?"

"No problem. I liked it."

"Then why are you acting like your damn dog died?"

"You aren't supposed to like... that. The whole helpless thing. It's just not me."

Bass' burst of laughter filled the room and he pulled her onto her back so he could face her as they spoke. Dramatically he stated, "You know nothing, Jon Snow."

Charlie gave him a quizzical look.

"Nevermind. TV show. Charlotte, a lot of tough people like surrendering control occasionally. Hell, you heard about Frank and Mistress Walnut, right?"

"Yeah, but…" Her self-image was bruised. It was one thing to retire as an old man and seek cheap thrills, but she didn't want to admit she liked taking a break from her life at only 23 years old.

Bass said, "When you're holding on too tightly, there's real relief in handing the reins to someone else for a while."

"What do you know about it?"

There was one of his looks again, an "Are you stupid" with a dash of "I can't believe I have to explain this."

Charlie pushed, "So who bent you over the bed and fucked you?"

Bass smiled, a cat that ate the canary grin. "I know the rumors. I wasn't offering a statement on them. I will admit that I've been tied up though. With the right person it's great."

"And with the wrong person?"

"Boring and awkward."

Charlie let herself smile at that. Whatever she was doing with Bass, it wasn't boring. Awkward threatened at the edges of her mind. She was naked in bed with Monroe, a man she'd once sworn to kill, and her loved ones, walking talking messes that they were, were downstairs. Bass' hand rested on her hip, and his thumb ran lazy, sweeping arcs over her skin.

"So Ms. Matheson, tell me what else you want."

"What?"

"Your last idea was a good one. What next?"

Charlie paused, considering her options. She was, if not exactly relaxed, sexually content at the moment. She was a little sore though. A sexy pounding was still a pounding, and another round tonight would hurt. "I'm good for now," she said.

Bass nuzzled her neck. "Tell me what you want me to do to you tomorrow."

Charlie held her breath as the offer twisted within her. Fucking Monroe had so far been a series of impulse moves. All she'd done was not shove him away. He wanted it to continue. He was leaving Thursday morning, but there was a lot she could do in forty-eight hours. That he was leaving was actually kind of freeing; she wouldn't risk bumping into a man who knew too much about her every time she went to the market, but did it have to be him?

"Tell me what you want, Charlotte."

She didn't answer. She still wouldn't even say yes to any of his questions, and admitting what she wanted in bed seemed like a much greater concession. Maybe she could just consider it an indulgence, a second piece of cake when you knew you'd be out of sugar soon.

He pulled away enough to stare into her eyes and grin. "If you can shock me, I'll give you my horse."

"Is there anything you won't do?"

"No animals," he said. "And if you want to bring a friend, she must be at least this tall," he gestured vaguely to around five feet high, "to ride this ride."

"What if I want to bring a male friend?"

"Is that a round about way of telling me you like it in the ass?"

"What? No. Get off me." She shoved at him, but he didn't budge.

"Tell me what you can't tell the farm boys. What won't they do?"

Charlie swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Monroe was older. He'd grown up before the blackout. He'd probably done it before, and given how he did everything else, he was probably good at it. "Your mouth," she said.

"Mmmhmmm," he purred. He trailed kisses along her neck before whispering in her ear. "What about my mouth?"

"On me," she said.

"Tell me more."

She took his hand and slid it down to the junction of her thighs, still sore and wet from his recent attention. "Here."

He gave a low chuckle. "I guess we have skipped that. Yeah, I can do that. Now tell me what the farm boys won't do for you."

"That," she said.

He drew back from her, his cloak sensuality dropping away. "Are you kidding me? You have got to be kidding me. Blackout boys don't eat at the Y?"

She shook her head.

"No wonder you were pissed off enough to overthrow two governments."

She punched him in the arm and shoved him off of her, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and scanning the floor for her clothes. He scrambled up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. "It's a joke. I'm kidding. Don't be mad. Tomorrow is Oral Sex Day." He threw his hands in the air and wagged his fingers in a celebratory gesture. "Yay! Oral Sex Day! We'll have a great time."

"I didn't say I wanted to do anything to you."

He stared at her incredulously. "Girls don't go down either?"

She shook her head.

"Explain this to me like I think your entire generation is stupid."

She shrugged. "Before the blackout people sat at desks in air conditioned rooms and showered all the time. Now we farm, walk or ride everywhere, and clean up with a washcloth."

Bass was quiet for a moment. Squeamish was not a word he immediately associated with Charlie. "You've got a swimming hole, a flooded quarry, something like that, right?"

She nodded.

He said, "We'll pack a picnic, go for a swim, and make sweet love on the grass."

"I didn't say I wanted to go on a date." He was the Scourge of Scranton, not her new boyfriend, no matter what show they were putting on for Mom and Miles. They might be naked in bed and planning their next sex acts, but picnics and making love weren't on the list of activities she'd allow.

"We'll wash up, and then I'll blow your mind and teach you a valuable new skill."

"I'm not sold on the last one."

She felt the vibration of his low rumbling chuckle as he pressed against her before whispering, "You really don't want to see me helpless. Whimpering. Begging you, 'Please, Charlotte, just let me come'?"

She didn't answer, but her mind was made up. For once she was going to have the upper hand on Monroe, even if that hand was guiding his dick into her mouth.


	7. Chapter 7

**Tuesday**

They stayed at the swimming hole until they'd run out of food and energy. She was glad she'd asked for what she'd wanted and he'd seemed happy to oblige. He'd made her promise to tell all her friends about the wonders of the tongue. She hadn't told him that she didn't have many, and certainly none that close.

They'd laughed a lot, alternating swimming, teasing, and generally being fools with rounds of intense and creative sex. It was a break from who and where they were. For once they could just be two people having a good time.

She hadn't realized how often and casual their touches had become until they'd returned home. Rachel's glare was like ice, although Charlie was no longer sure why. They'd both forgiven Miles long ago, but Bass somehow was still to blame for everything. They told themselves Danny was a noble soldier, fighting the good fight, but soldiers died. She knew that. She'd killed them. So had Bass. Countless, nameless people with their guns aimed the wrong way had grown cold and rotted because of her and Miles and Bass. Millions without guns were gone because of Rachel. The Mathesons let their guilt absolve them and let others finish the war. Bass had stayed in the fight, rooting out the Patriots and trying to stabilize life for the people who'd survived them, but they still called him a bastard.

Charlie met her mother's glare - they still hadn't spoke since Bass' revelation about her captivity - and said, "Why don't you take a walk? We'll make dinner." She shoved Bass ahead of her into the kitchen and around the corner, out of Rachel's sight.

He pulled her in close to him, barely suppressing a burst of laughter, and asked, "Did you just protect me from Rachel?"

She kissed him and teased, "If she knew what you'd spent the day doing to me she would screwdriver you so hard."

They both gave up the fight against the giggles at that, collapsing in fits of laughter that only grew louder when they heard the screen door slam behind Rachel.

* * *

Bass tasted the batter he'd been carefully doctoring with the available ground grains and declared it would have to be good enough. Charlie had long finished the chopping duties he'd assigned her and had been watching and listening as he talked. He'd been chatty since they'd begun cooking, delivering a lecture first on pancakes around the world and then a verbal tour of the best cheeses in Philadelphia as he curdled goat milk with vinegar, claiming it was for a good cause. When he seemed to run out of things to say, she asked, "How did you learn to cook?"

He paused before answering, his words turning measured and hiding as much as they revealed. "Your grandma, Dani, taught me." He looked up to check her response and nodded, apparently finding whatever it was he needed to see. "My mom got sick when I was 12. If I made it, she'd try to eat it. Did Miles ever tell you about the Matheson Family Cannabis Cooperative?" he asked.

She shook her head no. Whatever story was coming was a new one to her.

Bass led the way out the back door, carrying a pan, some utensils and his bowl of batter with him. He messed with the fire briefly and tested the heat with his hand before declaring it ready enough. He put the frying pan on the grate over the coals, tossed in a bit of lard and watched as it melted. When it was ready, he swirled the pan to distribute the oil and then dropped in batter by the scant quarter cup, making small, perfectly round pancakes.

When the pan was full, Charlie prodded, "What's the Matheson Family Cannabis Cooperative?"

Bass face twitched, as if he was reconsidering telling the story, but Charlie didn't blink. She waited, letting him come to her with the information.

"Mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was 12. The treatment was as bad as the disease, and she couldn't eat. She was losing weight fast, and I was flipping out. Miles learned that marijuana could help cancer patients, so he got Ben, who was in high school, to introduce him to a dealer." Bass' voice turned cold. "No matter what they said, my mom wasn't like that. She did it so she could live." He met her eyes, willing her to understand.

"Marijuana was illegal then, right? Even when it was medicine?"

Bass exhaled sharply, the disdain he pretended to feel at her lack of knowledge not hiding his relief at her lack of judgement.

"Yeah. It was, but it worked. For three weeks, my mom ate at least once a day. I didn't know why she was suddenly getting better, but it was great. And then Miles got busted with the weed." Bass looked to her, checking for shock, but the Uncle Miles she knew was a man who'd conquered a country and drank constantly. Some minor drug possession and an arrest for something that wasn't even illegal anymore wasn't remarkable.

"Anyway," he continued. "I had no idea any of this was going on. Didn't know about the weed and didn't know about the arrest. One day Dani, your grandma, called and told me I needed to come over and pick something up. People used to make casseroles when you were sick, so I wasn't too surprised. I get there and she calls me out. Hard. 'Sebastian William these brownies are for your mother and you are not to eat them.' 'I mean it Sebastian William do not touch these. If you want sweets you come over here and I'll make you something but you do NOT touch these. These are for your mother and only your mother.'"

"Now I was used to most of Jasper thinking I was a piece of crap. My dad was 'crazy Billy Monroe' and my mom was 'that girl from down South who got pregnant in high school.' Everybody knew I was going to turn out bad, but Dani had always been good to me and now she's fussing at me about the brownies, accusing me of stealing food from my mom the cancer patient, and I just lost it. I'm twelve, practically grown, but I'm sobbing in her kitchen, snot bubbles, the works, and when I calm down enough to hear what she's saying, I find out Miles has been dealing drugs to my mom."

"I'm ready to rip off his head - we had enough trouble with my dad's Choose Your Own Adventure in medication - and I go running through the house and tackle Miles to kick his ass. Rick, your grandpa, had to pull me off of him. It was Ben who finally calmed me down. He said if I ever wanted to get the hell out of Jasper then I needed to get up to speed with how the rest of the world worked. I bought it. If Ben tells you it's science and this is how it works in the real world, then that's it. It must be true, right, because Ben was a massive nerd and we all knew he wasn't coming back once he made it to college."

Charlie flinched at the description of her dad. She'd seen Jasper, but she'd never considered what his life had been like there. Her dad hadn't been one to talk about the past.

Bass continued, "They named it the Matheson Family Cannabis Cooperative and for fourteen months I picked up a plate of brownies twice a week. I counted up the cost later and they spent around twelve thousand dollars, but my mom lived because of them."

Charlie began to ask, "Your dad..."

Bass stood up and cut her off. "That's off limits."

Charlie nodded. She knew about wounds that were too raw to touch. She hugged him instead, drawing him close and hoping she provided some comfort. He'd told her a story about her family, but he'd had to reveal a lot of himself to do it.

"Don't pretend I'm someone I'm not," he said. "I gathered the fine citizens of Jasper into City Hall and tried to burn them alive."

She studied him, looking for a way to absolve him of that even though she'd watched him do it. Miles had killed someone that night, and she didn't hold it against him. "Why did you do it?"

"Not why. Where. I put them in the same building where they acquitted my family's murderer." He tended his pan on the fire briefly before continuing. "I'm not a nice man, and the list of people I care about is short and brutally defended."

She ignored most of his statement, zooming in on the new information. "Acquitted?"

"Yeah. He was from a good family and had plenty of money. We weren't."

She squeezed him tighter. She wasn't a talker, not like she used to be, and there were no words for some things anyway. She knew the feeling, though, that one man had taken everything from you and was getting off scott free. Bass had done too much for her since then for her to consider him only the destroyer, but she didn't have to dig too deeply to know how he felt about the drunk driver and anyone who waved away his crime.

He said, "I need to flip the pancakes. You can let go."

"That's pretty freaking glib, Monroe," she said. "I'm trying to have a moment here."

His attention was briefly on his pan, carefully scraping free the disks and flipping them. "I've seen you naked several times now," he said. "You can call me Bass."

"No," she answered.

"Still won't say yes for me?"

She bit her lip and he grinned. She hadn't known that he'd noticed, but he seemed to be in good spirits about it.

"If my A game didn't do it, we'll have to go to extra innings," he said.

"I thought you had to leave Thursday morning."

He shrugged. "I do, but we've got tonight and all of Wednesday."

* * *

Charlie was quiet throughout dinner, so much so that Miles pulled her aside and left Rachel and Bass to do the dishes, a potentially risky move given Rachel's stew of pregnancy hormones and the knives that needed to be washed.

"If you're done with him, I can throw him out," Miles offered. "I can't promise he'll stay out, but if it takes a crowbar to get him out of your room I've got one in the hall closet."

Charlie managed a small smile. "It's fine. He's fine. But thanks for offering."

"What's got you so down, kid?"

"He was talking about Jasper."

Charlie watched as Miles' face struggled to find an expression. He seemed to actually be surprised, an emotion that didn't come naturally to him. Finally Miles said, "He had a rough time. Never went back after we finished high school."

"Never?"

"Once to visit his family's graves. Once to burn the place down. Would have been better if it was never."

"He didn't even visit his family until they died?"

"They moved to Gary our senior year. Bass moved into Ben's room so he didn't have to change schools with only four months to go."

"Then why were they buried in Jasper?" Charlie asked.

"We were overseas when they died. Your grandma handled the arrangements. She put them in the Monroe family plot."

Charlie gave him a puzzled look.

"You used to have to buy graves. Families would buy plots so they could all be buried together and to save money. Four new ones at once would have been enough to buy a car."

"I've heard about that before. I just got the impression from him that the Monroes… weren't the kind of people who had a family plot."

Miles crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, assessing Charlie like a mission map before stating his conclusion. "He really talked to you. Yeah, the Monroes used to be a good family. Billy, Bass' dad, had some," Miles ran a hand through his hair, tangling in a dry knot at the back as he searched for the words. "Billy had some on and off mental health problems. Bass spent a lot of years trying to get people to see him for himself and not just as his dad's kid. Honor student, Eagle Scout, lettered in sports, all that crap. Emma's parents still wouldn't let us double date with him." Miles took a swig of his whiskey. "They may have been on to something with that last one."

Charlie sat with the news for a minute, nothing too shocking, just a confirmation of what he'd told her and what she'd suspected. She hugged Miles and said, "Goodnight. I'm going to bed."

"Going to bed like sleeping or going to bed like I should take your mom with me to put up the chickens and lock the barn?"

"Sleeping, I think," she said. "He really lived with you in high school? Knew Grandma and Dad?"

"Yeah," Miles confirmed. "They both loved him."

* * *

Charlie barely made it to her room before the tears started falling. Sometimes the losses just hit her. Usually she could fight it back with anger, but at the moment she just felt raw. Monroe was her well of anger, and it seemed empty. He'd told her he'd never wanted to kill anyone in her family, but she'd never really believed it. It was easier to think of him as a monster chasing after the innocent victims she wanted her parents to be. They weren't innocent, and not only wasn't he a monster, all evidence seemed to indicate that he really hadn't wanted to hurt them. Things happened. People died. Sometimes you lost someone you didn't think you could live without and your heart kept beating anyway.

She heard the latch click as the door was opened and turned to face the dresser, sniffing and squinting to force the tears to stop. Bass quietly closed the door and crossed the room with quick strides, slipping in behind her and gently nuzzling her neck. When she didn't lean into him or turn to face him he said, "Rachel and I only broke one dish. I'm calling it a win." He tugged gently on her waist, turning her so she faced him, and saw her tears. His tone turned gentle. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"My dad," she said, choking on the words. "You knew my dad."

Bass ran a hand slowly over her hair, soothing her like a skittish horse. "Yeah, I did. I guess Miles and Rachel don't talk about him much."

Charlie stiffened. It was true. It hadn't been what set her off, but acknowledging it only deepened her sense of loss.

Bass asked, "Do you need to talk or listen?"

Charlie hadn't considered either of those as possibilities. She'd planned to wait out the pain. If he was offering another option though, she'd take it. "Listen," she said.

Bass obliged and told her stories about Ben. She'd never known that he was a crossing guard in elementary school, that he'd built and sold gaming systems to make money to buy his first car, or that in college he'd set a conference room on fire with a presentation gone wrong. They moved from standing to sitting to lying in bed as Bass dug deep into his Matheson file to find stories about her dad. When he reached her parents' wedding, she asked, "Can you tell me a happy version of this story without lying?"

"They weren't unhappy, Charlotte. Miles just wanted to do his 20 in the Marines and before he settled down, if he settled down. Your mom didn't want to wait so she found someone else. Your dad was a good guy. A smarter, gentler version of Miles. It's not that strange that if she loved one, she'd love the other." He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Mathesons are very lovable."

She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling into his strength. "Goodnight, Bass."

"Goodnight, Charlotte."


	8. Chapter 8

**Wednesday**

"I'm going to kill him."

Charlie shot awake at the words, rolled out of bed to the floor and slid her hand between the box spring and the mattress to retrieve the gun hidden there.

Bass laughed as she levelled the weapon on him. "Good morning to you, too. Nice to see the traditional Matheson greeting hasn't gone completely out of style."

"Who are you going to kill?"

"That damn rooster." It crowed as if on cue. Bass continued, "I hate those things. If I want to know if the sun is up, I'll open my eyes. There's no need to scream about it."

Charlie took slow, deep breaths and willed her pulse to return to normal.

"Get back in bed, Charlotte," he said with that devilish grin of his. "That bird isn't the only chicken that needs choking."

She rolled her eyes but crawled in beside him anyway. Gun play, a cock pun, and a sexual invitation all within a minute of waking up. This was life with Sebastian Monroe. She straddled his lap, bracing her hands on his chest and locking eyes with him. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Whatever you'd like." He smiled and twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers, using it to tug her towards him for a kiss. It was slow and lazy, as if they had all the time in the world to spend in bed. Charlie knew they should get up, that she had a full day of chores ahead of her after taking yesterday off, but this was their last day together, and whatever she didn't do today, aside from Bass, would still be there tomorrow.

They lingered at the kissing stage, taking their time, savoring the moment and each other. They let their hands roam while their lips played, nibbling and teasing their way forward. When Charlie felt ready, she grasped his cock with one hand and slowly lowered herself down onto him.

Bass' voice was strained as he ordered her off of him. Charlie ignored him, riding him with slow, teasing strokes, the way they'd kissed. Bass grabbed her hips and forced her to stop. "Off," he ordered. "I don't do this."

"Don't do what? We've done this a lot."

"Not without a condom."

"You hate pulling out that much? I thought this felt better."

"It does feel better." Bass let out a staggered breath. "A lot better, but I don't do this." He lifted her off of him and closed his eyes before continuing. "The first time I tried pull-and-pray I got Connor and the last I buried Shelly."

Charlie looked down at him and saw the cracks in a man she'd once have sworn was too heartless to have any weaknesses. She knew Bass longed for a family, but she could see he was determined not to accidentally start one.

"Let me take care of you," he begged.

She kissed him, hopped out of bed, and took the two quick steps across the floor to the front of his pack where she knew he kept his supply. She found at least ten more in a bag and mentally counted up the ones they'd burned through in the last several days. She kissed him again as she smoothed the sheath onto him and tried to lighten the mood, teasing, "I saw your stash. You're a slut, aren't you?"

Bass stared at her for a moment before answering. "Only when there's no one who wants me to be faithful."

Charlie stroked his cheek feeling the gentle scratch of the short, blond hairs of his beard as her fingers slid over them. "I believe that's true." She kissed him while sliding his now sheathed cock inside her. "Better?" she asked.

He gave a small laugh. "No. Definitely not better, but practical."

She smiled at that and began to slide up and down the length of him. Practical didn't usually come to mind when she thought of Sebastian Monroe. There was a certain wholesome connotation to it that he lacked. She'd have called him efficient. Coldly logical.

"Stop thinking and kiss me," he ordered.

She did, moving slowly with him, lips and hips sliding in a slow dance. She wanted to lean back, to align their bodies differently, tilting so he stroked the right spot inside her, but she wanted to kiss him more. The prickles of his beard, the tease of his lips, and, when she pulled away just far enough to gaze into them, the intense blue of his eyes, all drew her in close to him. "Bass," she purred.

He didn't answer with words. He cupped his hand along her cheek and then slid it into her hair, drawing her in for another kiss. When he untangled his hand from her hair he said, "This isn't getting you there. Hold on." In one smooth motion he rolled them both, putting Charlie on the bottom and himself on top. He smiled and whispered, "Missionary is a classic for a reason." His fingers skimmed along her left leg, positioning her thigh a little higher on his hip. "I think this is your spot."

Charlie's eyes flew open and her breath escaped in a stutter. That was exactly her spot, and he knew just what to do now that he'd locked in on the target. Slowly at first, but then with increasing speed and determination, Bass worked their bodies, stroking Charlie's g-spot with every thrust and retreat. Her hands ran over him, leaving scratch marks and tangling in his hair, but it was their locked stare that honed the intensity of the encounter. Finally Charlie crested, her orgasm breaking over her like a wave, and Bass responded to her cries by diving in for a kiss, swallowing her moans and releasing his own.

They were both trembling by the time they finished. Bass kissed her gently as he withdrew, but they avoided eye contact. He quickly disposed of the condom and climbed back in bed to curl their bodies together.

Charlie fought for control of herself as she lay beside him. That hadn't been part of the plan, hadn't been their normal. That was making love, not just fucking, and she had never intended to do that with Bass. This was a distraction with a time limit. There were boundaries.

She understood Miles' fear of him now. It was so easy to fall into Bass; he had his own gravitational field. Would she merrily slay villages full of people with him now? No - she wasn't even sure he ever had - but she was going to miss him when he was gone. Not just the sex, but him. She hadn't counted on that, hadn't wanted that.

"We should get some more sleep," Bass said.

Later - it could have been five minutes or an hour; time was meaningless when your mind was racing - as she finally began to drift off, she felt Bass plant a gentle kiss in her hair and heard him mutter, "Oh shit."

* * *

Bass tossed another shovelful of manure in the wheelbarrow and moved forward twenty paces to the next pile. Charlie trailed, pushing the barrow along after him. They'd been clearing the pasture all morning, periodically trading jobs and dumping their collections in the compost pile, working mostly in silence. When they finished clearing the field closest to the barn, Charlie suggested they break for lunch.

They washed up at the well and refilled their water jug before retrieving the lunch Bass had packed and finding a shaded spot under a tree to eat. When Bass finished his sandwich, he turned his attention to Charlie. She felt his stare but ignored it. Whatever issue he wanted to press, it was up to him to do it.

"Why are you in Willoughby?" he finally asked.

Charlie cocked her head and shrugged. "Where else should I be?"

"Somewhere. Anywhere. This farm crap is fine for other people, but why aren't you in Austin? Why aren't you a Texas Ranger?"

"Mom and Miles need me here," she answered.

"No, they don't. I checked. Miles makes enough as sheriff to buy food and Rachel is about to get a very nice payday using that big, juicy brain of hers to do the same thing around Texas that she did in Boston. They've not only got the basics covered, they can afford to hire help."

"Mom will need help with the baby."

"Your mom has had kids before. She knows how to do this, and she's got Miles. You don't have to plan your life around any of them. Her kid doesn't dictate your life."

Charlie sat with that thought for a moment. Since her mother had told her she was pregnant four months ago, she'd been setting her mind for the arrival of the baby, readying herself to fight and sacrifice for it like she'd always done for Danny, but this baby wasn't Danny. This child would have capable protectors in a more stable world. She could just love her brother or sister this time, maybe from a distance.

"Where would I go?" Charlie asked.

"What do you want?"

That was a different problem. What she wanted were big goals and nearly impossible challenges. She wanted to triumph over great odds. She wanted a sense of mission. She'd considered joining the Texas Rangers but checking into it had convinced her it wasn't an option. She'd been second in command to Miles Matheson as they'd fought to overthrow the Monroe Republic and then the Patriots. If she joined the Rangers and made it through their training program, she'd be the most junior member of the team. Now that the Patriots were mostly gone from Texas, that meant she'd be guarding the horses while the more senior rangers searched a house or interrogated a prisoner. It hadn't seemed any more appealing than the life she already had.

She pushed herself to standing and exhaled slowly. "Right now I want to muck out the barn and then get the horses groomed and put up."

* * *

They each took a stall at a time, effectively cutting off any further conversation, but, once it was time to groom the horses, they were back to working side by side.

Charlie asked, "So are you ever going to tell me about Scranton, Mr. Scourge?"

He gave her one of his looks. "Careful, Charlotte, or you'll run out of reasons to hate me."

She stared him down, not an easy feat with Sebastian Monroe. He was so used to being obeyed, he was always a little thrown when someone was unimpressed by his bravado.

He nodded and began his story. "Shelly was a high school teacher. She was a hundred miles from home on a trip with a group of seniors when the power went out. So, when I married her I got 20 teenage kids in the package. I was out foraging for supplies about six months after she died with four of my boys. When we got back, we found out the camp had been hit. Three of my kids were dead and they'd taken eight of my girls. Fourteen girls total. What were we supposed to do but go get them back?"

He looked to Charlie, checking for agreement. Charlie nodded as the gears turned in her mind. Yes, she could understand tracking down your kidnapped loved ones.

"It took a week, but we tracked them to Scranton. The first hit was a surgical strike. We needed to get the girls out more than we wanted to kill all those bastards."

Charlie nodded again. Yes, she could understand prioritizing safety over revenge in the short term..

"One of my girls had been killed, one sold, and the others were…" Bass paused for a moment, seeking a word and huffing in frustration when he couldn't find it. "Injured. The day after we made it home, the first one committed suicide. None of them had spoken a single damn word, hadn't made a single sound, since we'd rescued them."

"Paige, one of the girls who was taken, came up and sat down beside me around the campfire that night, and you could just tell she was working up to something. She finally said that when the girls made noise, screamed or begged or whatever, more people would come watch. She said there were a couple hundred people a day's ride away who had enjoyed seeing her…" He searched for a word again and chose one that was clearly less than what he meant. "Hurt. They'd told them if they ever escaped they'd be caught and get worse. The girls believed it. They were certain people were coming after them. They were all practicing being quiet so that when they were recaptured their 'punishment' wouldn't draw as big a crowd."

"There were a couple of dads there who heard what Paige said, some of my kids, too. I don't know who said it first, but once the idea was out - ours will never be safe as long as those sick bastards are alive - there was nothing to do but go back to Scranton and kill them all."

Charlie trembled. A group so twisted there was nothing to do but destroy it? Yes, she was familiar with the idea. Yes, she'd carried out similar plans.

"We went back and eliminated the threat to our families. We couldn't leave their kids to starve, so we took them. That's how Miles got Alec and a couple others. I was used to groups of teenagers, so I wound up with a lot of the older kids. They called themselves the Monroe Militia."

He was silent and still when he'd finished. Charlie hated to interrupt when he was lost in thought, but she wanted to know. "Did the girls recover?"

"Hard to say. One more suicide, and the rest of them left within a year. They just needed to be somewhere where they weren't the Scranton Girls." He paused for a moment and asked, "Did Duncan seem OK to you?"

"Duncan from Vegas?"

Bass nodded. "Duncan Page used to be Paige Duncan. She was a badass little ringleader even at 19. Sent me a note the year after Miles left. 'I hear you need a vacation. Come to Vegas.' Took a while, but I made it to Vegas."

Charlie stilled and tried to process the information. His destruction of Scranton had been in the same moral category as her war against the Monroe Republic; it had just been over faster. When she'd found him in Vegas, she'd believed he'd found another way to make a comfortable living hurting people. That he'd gone to see an old friend after Miles had rejected him yet again made her reconsider that view, too. Dammit Monroe was slippery. He preferred the quick brutal answer, but when you dug into his thinking it often became harder, if not impossible, to say he'd been entirely wrong.

That night, as they lay in bed, she whispered, "The Terror of Trenton?"

"Ever read the 'Red Badge of Courage'?"

She shook her head no.

"They used to write books about how much war sucks. One of my kids did an updated version and ran off copies on an old printing press. He did a great job, better than the original, but if you were against us, then it's just me killing a bunch of people and yelling at some terrified teenagers until they start killing too." Bass rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. "If the power had never gone out, Tariq would have won awards; he was that good. Instead, he's buried outside Albany."

Charlie fell asleep trying to reconcile the brutally efficient military leader she knew Monroe to be with the man who spoke with such concern and pride about his "kids." She'd pictured Bass with dozens of Connors and Scanlons around him as he'd founded the Republic, but this seemed warmer than that. His kids, as he called them, hadn't been manipulators hoping for a payday or gun happy fanboys. They'd been his family. She knew what it felt like to go to war for and with your family.


	9. Chapter 9

Charlie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and watched as Bass loaded his saddlebags. She hadn't intended this to be awkward and certainly hadn't intended to care that he was leaving. Unfortunately, with Miles and her mother nearby, whatever it was that she couldn't find the words for would have to remain unsaid. She and Bass had fallen back on touches and glances often enough over the last few days, but, as Rachel's eyes burned into her, she didn't even feel comfortable touching him. He'd be gone in the next few minutes and she'd be left with nothing but her mother's rebukes and rows of tomatoes to weed. No need to add to her misery.

Bass cinched the top down on his saddlebags and gave his canteens a shake, checking the water level, before extending a hand to Miles. Miles shrugged but took it, and Bass pulled him into a rough hug. "Took you almost fifty years, Matheson, but you're finally living the life you should have had all along. Congratulations. That kid's lucky. Don't let your self-loathing tell you otherwise."

Bass gave Rachel a sarcastic salute from several feet away before coming to a stop in front of Charlie. The silence twisted between them as they each considered what to do next. Finally, Bass grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a rough kiss, all teeth and pressure, his beard scratching her cheeks as he gave a slight pull to her hair. Her mind told her she was better off without him. No matter what show he put on (and this one might be just to annoy Rachel) or what her body might want, he was only half-tamed and liable to do something unforeseen and irrevocable at any moment.

He pulled away and gave her a look she couldn't read. "Bye," he said sharply. "I've got a boat to catch."

"Safe travels," she answered.

He swung into the saddle with a dancer's grace and gave Charlie one last long look before turning his horse and heading out the driveway at a fast trot. Miles and Rachel went back in the house, but Charlie stayed outside, watching until he turned the corner and then waiting for his dust cloud to settle. The most interesting thing to ride into her life in the last year had just ridden back out. It was one thing to know it was unsustainable, to know the horse would have thrown you eventually, and another to just have the horse fuck right off down the dusty trail leaving you with nothing but your parents and gardening. She considered going into town but couldn't face the conversation she was sure to have with one of the locals, the one about how much the crops needed rain.

Charlie dropped to a seat on the steps up to the porch and tried to settle back into the reality of her life. Bass was gone, off to fight the Patriots and found a country, and she was who she'd been years ago, before she'd ever met him: an adult-child living with an oppressively concerned parent and a loving step-parent in a small farming community so closely knit she often felt like she couldn't breathe.

Miles came out and handed her a glass of water. "You doing OK?"

She made a blank of her face and asked, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's better this way."

"An old family friend stopped by. Now he's gone. It's not a big deal."

"Would it be a big deal if he came back?" Miles asked.

"Why?"

Miles tipped his head towards the driveway and they both stood, watching as cloud of dust bloomed behind a rider pounding up the road towards them. Bass reined in hard and began swinging his leg to dismount before the horse had even fully stopped.

"Charlotte!"

The 'yes' was on the tip of her tongue. Yes I'm glad you came back. Yes I've had to change my opinion of you. Yes I want to see where this could go.

"If I take Boston and leave you with fifty men, can you hold it?"

"What?"

"What what?" he asked crisply. "Just what I said. I need someone to hold the city while I push out the Patriots. Can you do it?"

Charlie's heart pounded as she weighed the offer. She was bored in Texas and there was no sign of that ever changing if she let Bass leave without her. She missed adventure, unpredictability, working as hard as she could for a goal that seemed impossible. She missed breathlessness. Before he'd even gotten out of sight, she'd missed Bass.

Bass stalked toward her, "Are you coming or not?"

Charlies pulse pounded and her breath stuttered. What happened in the next few minutes would change the entire course of her life. Or not.

Miles shook his head and muttered, "I'll go sedate Rachel so you can pack."

She answered, "I didn't say I was going."

Miles ignored her and headed inside, leaving her alone on the porch with Bass.

"I didn't say I was going," she repeated.

"Say the damn word, Charlotte," he said. "Just this once. Say it. Are you coming with me?"

"Yes."

Bass smiled, the roguish grin she'd come to associate with her panties sliding off. "Go pack. I'll saddle your horse. We have a boat to catch."

* * *

To no one's surprise, Rachel objected. At least she was smart enough to know the battle was lost before it began and the argument was understated and over after a brief exchange of sharp words and a few tears.

Miles and Charlie listened as Rachel left them and went to lie down, holding their breath until they heard her bedroom door shut behind her. Charlie eyed Miles, waiting for his input. He'd let her go the last time she needed breathing space, but she suspected he was more worried about this than when she'd gone wandering to points unknown alone. Her last joint plan with Bass had gotten them both nearly killed in Vegas.

"Two things," Miles began. He drew a deep breath and when he spoke again his tone had shifted from his usual sarcastic one to the thoughtful one that Charlie heard so rarely but cherished. This was the Miles she could count on. "One: you will become who you pretend to be, so don't pretend to be a cold-blooded killer. Be you. You're plenty good enough. Two: he will become who you need him to be. Not who you want him to be or who you ask him to be, but who you need. Don't ignore your problems or he will fix them. Have a big enough team that the dirty work can be spread around. Make it so you need him to be who you want him to be."

Charlie leaned into him as she hugged him. Miles wasn't one for talking about the past, but she knew he regretted a lot of what he'd done with Bass. He'd tried to blame Bass, to call the other man crazy and blame him for Miles' own mistakes. The advice he'd given her had been learned the hard way.

"Am I crazy for doing this?" she asked.

Miles shrugged and smiled, trying to get back to his glib self. "Yeah, you are. But you need out of here and he needs adult supervision. It'll either be great or a train wreck. You've got some experience with trains and haven't wrecked yet."

* * *

Miles and Bass loaded Charlie's packs as Rachel made one last plea for her to reconsider this decision. Charlie promised to write. Her heart pounded as she mounted her horse. Bass had thrown a wrench into her plans so many times over the years, both accidentally and intentionally, that it was hard to convince herself that riding off into the sunrise with him was anything but a fool's errand. Still, she'd always come out on top. She gave a final wave to her mother and Miles and a gentle tap to her horse. Before she reached the end of the driveway, she was laughing wildly and pushing her horse to a full gallop. Riding off into the sunrise with Bass might be a mistake, but staying behind without him would have been a bigger one.

* * *

Epilogue:

First person accounts of the founding of the Northeast Republic are rare, but the region has a strong oral and folk music tradition. Many stories claim Commander in Chief Matheson had a tumultuous relationship and frequent conflicts with Commanding General Monroe. Bawdy folk songs about the passionate relationship between Chief Charlie and Badass Bass are abundant. The the most explicit of them are almost certainly apocryphal, but they remain popular and are a testimony to the creativity of the founders of the Republic. What is verifiable is that Chief Matheson's son, born three years after she landed in Boston, was named Sebastian.

* * *

THE END

* * *

A/N: I had to cut a couple of scenes from this fic to maintain the timeline and setting I had established. Since Charloe shippers will probably enjoy at least one of them, I posted them on another link. /works/1825342/chapters/3920026


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